Well, I decided that since I broke out of the mold to sing my husband's praises yesterday, I might as well just continue to go with it.
This week a package came in the mail. In the past this would have been an exciting experience, with all of us wondering what might be in the box and who it might be for. But since so many packages these days just contain yet another doctoral-class textbook, none us were holding our breath. So imagine my surprise when I opened it to find that the box contained a special gift for me!
Now I need to say that while my husband is much more romantic than I am, gift-giving is not his love language. So this was indeed a nice surprise. It's not every day that a wife finds one of these in her hands. It is obvious that my husband put a lot of thought into this gift to make sure that he got me just the right thing. It is the right size and color and is a perfect fit. Just what I wanted. I couldn't love him more.
Because now that he has replaced the broken crock pot lid, my life is a whole is a lot easier.
A little background might be helpful, especially for those who were not there last Sunday when the original crock pot lid met it's early demise.
John and the little girls were planning to attend a birthday party while the rest of us went to a Tim Hawkins performance (I want to be just like Tim Hawkins when I grow up). Just to be nice, I volunteered to make the baked beans that would be his contribution to the cook-out. To keep them warm and for easier travel we placed them in the crock pot. In what was to become a fatal error, he chose to take the pot out of the heating element for travel. Upon arrival, he slipped, the lid fell into the pot of beans, and shattered into many tiny fragments. As seasoned parents, we would be okay with a fly or two in the beans, even a little dirt, but glass is an obvious deal-breaker. The party had to go on, with or without baked beans.
And just to show that he is sincerely sorry, he made certain to buy me a new lid. Just the right size and color. A perfect fit.
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